Rowan dreamed of finding the seven Unity Koro and ruling all of Althoria. But first, he had to get his hands on that honey bun. Right now, destiny could wait. The last pastry at the Harvest Festival was calling, and Rowan wasn’t about to miss out. He tore down the
When Rowan was four, the world seemed endless and full of magic. Golden fields stretched far beyond the village. The cottages, with mossy roofs and sturdy beams, stood close together like little mountains guarding their people. And above it all, the sky was endless and blue, a dreamy canvas that
Rowan hit the ground hard. His knees buckled, and he rolled to his side. His breathing came in sharp bursts, each one shaky and uneven. The heavy and strange silence rang in his ears. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his hand quivering as he raised it into the soft light,
The sun hadn’t actually peeked over the horizon. Still, Rowan was already wide awake, his heart pounding like a festival drum. Today was the day he was finally leaving Zyranth! Unfortunately, his blanket didn’t seem to agree with him. “Gah, let go!” Rowan wriggled and wrestled until he tumbled straight
The creatures shrieked in surprise, their glowing eyes snapping toward Rowan all at once. With a burst of sparks, the firebats shot into the stormy air, screeching as they circled overhead. Mud clung to Rowan’s boots, each step heavy and slippery. He slipped once, arms flailing, then caught himself and
The heavy wooden door groaned as it creaked open, its rusty hinges whining like a tired flute. The sound wandered into the dark beyond, echoing through the silence. Rowan peeked inside first, his fingers clutching the doorframe. Bjorn leaned over Rowan’s shoulder. “You sure this is the place?” Rowan swallowed
Rowan and Bjorn followed Sorin into a round dining room nestled within mossy stone walls. Ivy-wrapped scrolls lined the shelves that curved above them like quiet guardians. In the center, a broad wooden table rested beneath a glass skylight glowing with twilight. A wave of scent rolled over them: herbs
Bjorn charged down the trail, his boots thudding hard against the dirt. “Come on!” he shouted over his shoulder. Rowan sprinted after him, lungs burning as the forest blurred past. Morning light scattered through the branches in flashes of gold and green. The path narrowed into twists and dips, forcing
The woods opened into a marsh that shimmered. Rowan’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Come on! Willowfen has to be close.” Nestled deep in the swamp, Willowfen looked like a secret village the world had hidden away. Wooden cottages rose on stilts above the shallow waters, their dark marshwood mirrored in
Rowan and Bjorn pressed deeper into the strange forest, each step carrying them farther from anything familiar. “This doesn’t feel like the same forest anymore,” Rowan whispered. “It’s like… a dream that forgot how to wake up.” Bjorn didn’t answer. His hand hovered near the handle of his axe, scanning
The cottage door creaked shut behind them, and inside, every corner brimmed with curious treasures: shelves lined with glass bottles that shimmered green, gold, and blue; bundles of feathers tied in careful cords; and heavy old books stacked high like sleeping beasts. A kettle hissed softly on the fireplace, filling
A single lantern dangled from a crooked post beside the cottage, squeaking each time the breeze stirred. One of its glass panes chipped, but the wick inside had been waiting for someone to wake it. Bjorn reached up and unhooked the lantern. A sticky cobweb stretched across the handle, clinging
Bjorn’s shoulders tensed as his grip tightened around the handle of his axe. He knew that crooked grin, the floppy feathered hat, and that slouched stance. “The Banditleaf Trio,” Bjorn muttered, planting his boots firmly in the damp earth. “Guess I didn’t hit you hard enough last time.” The leader,
The cottage greeted Bjorn with the gentle scent of drying herbs and a faint curl of smoke from the fireplace. Sunlight streamed through a small window that pooled across a narrow cot against the far wall. Rowan lay curled beneath a thin blanket. His chest rose and fell in steady
Rowan tugged his pack straps tight and leapt over the last root. The forest ended so suddenly that it felt like someone had sliced it away with a giant blade. One step he was in the forest, the next he was blinking under an enormous sky that stretched wider than
Rowan saw a small figure running through the crowd, with a torn cloak fluttering behind them. The hood stayed low, hiding their face, but Rowan caught a flash of something small and shiny in their hand. Rowan shot to his feet. “Hey! Stop!” But the thief rushed ahead, bumping into
They had been walking for hours when the air seemed to change. Rowan couldn’t explain what he felt. It wasn’t a noise or a chill; it was like the wind leaned in close, pressing softly against his chest and encouraging him forward. Something unseen was guiding them across the hills
Rowan lifted his hand and shouted, “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” Then, before Rowan knew what was happening, Lucas blurred into a flash so bright he couldn’t see, but Rowan squinted just in time to see a jagged bolt coming toward him. Rowan jumped and tumbled across the
Lucas was falling, and Rowan didn’t stop to think. His boots pounded across the breaking bridge, each step kicking loose stones and clouds of dust. The wind surged at his back, like a friend who knew exactly what he needed. With one final push, he dove headfirst off the crumbling
Rowan stood at the edge of the lake, his boots sinking into the squishy ground. Beside him, Bjorn crouched, pressing his hand into the mud as if daring it to argue back. Every step they took left behind noisy squelches; the shoreline seemed excited to swallow them whole. “No bridge.
The jolt snapped the oar from Crumble’s hands. It spun once, slapped the water, and sank into the foggy dark with a soft bloop! Everyone froze. “D-did we hit a log?” Snatch squeaked, his voice wobbling higher than usual. The next blow came harder, slamming the boat sideways. Crumble’s cookie
They stepped into the village square. The cobblestones, polished smooth by countless footsteps, gleamed faintly in the fading light. A wooden toy lay on its side near the well, one wheel hanging by a splinter. A faded scarf clung to a broken fencepost, its threads dancing in the breeze. On
From the edge of Hollowmere, Rowan glanced back one last time. The mossy bench where Elarion had been sitting was already fading into the mist. Fog uncoiled, slinking across the ground until the whole village disappeared. The forest path curled ahead of them, roots punching up through the soil like
Bjorn’s axe sliced through a bat, scattering it into a storm of sparks that tumbled over the tower’s edge. Another shrieked from behind. Bjorn spun, slamming the butt of his axe into its head. The creature burst backward, spiraling off the platform, its trail of fire streaking like a falling
Rowan gripped the wooden ladder as though it would buck him at any second. The whole thing shook in the breeze as he carefully inched his way down, toward the treetops swaying beneath him. Bjorn, of course, had no patience for slow descents. He skipped the last few rungs entirely
For a long moment, Rowan and Bjorn stood in the hush that followed. Above them, leaves swayed with a gentle shhh, and sunlight spilled in broken beams, sliding across the path like golden spotlights on a stage. “So…” Rowan began, kicking at a pebble. Bjorn smirked, already guessing. “We’re definitely
Bjorn’s boots scraped against the stone as he lunged forward. The Hazbin’s bony hand lunged toward Rowan, but with a fierce shout, Bjorn slammed into Rowan, knocking him to the side. The Hazbin’s strike missed by inches, as the two boys tumbled in a tangle of arms and legs, rolling
A woman burst into the square, clutching a child tight against her chest. Her voice was full of panic. “Run! Get out of here! If the Burlok returns, nothing will save you!” Rowan’s stomach dropped. “That’s impossible! The Burlok’s just an old tale to keep kids from wandering off.” The
The phoenix leapt from Bjorn’s shoulder, wings flashing like shards of ice in the stormlight. It opened its beak, and a strange light spun in its throat, sparkling like starlit frost. With a rush, the glow spiraled upward in a stream of icy wind, glittering as it climbed. Then, SNAP!
Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air by the time Rowan and Bjorn left Stormreach Village behind. The wide cobblestone streets had shrunk into a single winding trail, and the laughter of the villagers faded until it felt like the world had gone quiet. The higher they climbed, the stronger the
“First question. Tell me the name of the one who first wore the Crown of Unity.” Rowan’s eyes widened. “Wait… the first King?” He glanced at Bjorn, who gave a helpless shrug. This wasn’t just a history question. It was ancient lore. Rowan’s thoughts spun fast. The King ruled for
The snow was deeper than Rowan expected. Every step sank with a soft crunch as Rowan and Bjorn followed the narrow trail winding up the side of the Stormreach Peaks. The air had changed since the last ridge, and was cold enough to sting Rowan’s cheeks. “The mountain seems to
The trail had narrowed into a jagged ridge clinging to the mountainside like the spine of some vast, sleeping beast. One wrong step would send them tumbling into the clouds below. Rowan observed the path. His breath puffed in the frozen air. His legs burned, and the tips of his
Rowan froze mid-step. The hairs on his arms rose under his cloak. BOOOOM! The sound tore through the clouds, shaking the mountain. Snow exploded across the summit in a whirling blast as a massive shadow dropped from the heavens. The ridge trembled, cracking under the impact, and Rowan stumbled, catching
Rowan stepped into the meadow, the tall grass brushing his knees. His eyes widened. “Whoa… this place is amazing,” he said, brushing his fingers over a cluster of petals. “It feels like a dream.” Bjorn flopped into the grass with a sigh. “My legs might never forgive me.” Rowan chuckled
Rowan had been traveling west for exactly one morning, and already his new crew was falling apart. “Ye call that packin’?” Lyra asked. Rowan twisted around while walking, nearly tripping over his own cloak. “What’s wrong with it?” Lyra pointed at the wooden ladle sticking out of the top of
Rowan had discovered three important things about swamps. First, everything was wet. Second, everything smelled wet. And third, apparently every insect in Althoria had personally decided his face was the perfect place to live. BZZZZZZ. Rowan swatted beside his ear. “Got you!” He opened his hand. Nothing. BZZZZZZ. His eye
Rowan stared at the glowing plant. Then at Lyra. Then back at the plant. “Save our lives?” Lyra grinned. “Aye.” Rowan leaned closer. “How?” “By keepin’ ye from drownin’.” Bjorn scratched his head. “That seems pretty useful.” “Very useful,” Rowan agreed. Lyra carefully brushed her fingers across the thin green
Rowan had seen plenty of strange things since leaving Zyranth. He had explored ancient ruins, crossed mysterious shimmers, battled a giant Burlok, and watched a Frost Phoenix freeze an entire mountainside. But nothing had prepared him for the smell of Larkshore. “Whoa!” He stopped in the middle of the trail,
Rowan woke to the sound of a cannon. BOOOOOM! “AH!” He shot upright, tangled himself in his blanket, and tumbled straight out of bed. THUD! For a moment, he lay on the wooden floor, staring at the ceiling. Then he heard laughter. “Nice landing.” Rowan slowly turned his head. Bjorn
Rowan had never been aboard a pirate ship before. Well, technically, he had never been aboard any ship before. Unless you counted the little wooden boat he had once tried to build with his father. Which had sunk. Immediately. “Think it’ll be big?” he asked. Bjorn glanced at him. “What?”
Rowan had learned something important about Larkshore. The town never slept. At least, he was fairly certain it didn’t. Even as the sun disappeared beyond the Never Ending Lark, the streets remained crowded with sailors, merchants, and travelers. Lanterns flickered beneath colorful awnings, music drifted through the narrow alleyways, and
Rowan had a problem. A very serious problem. He was trying to be sneaky. And Bjorn was eating. CRUNCH! Rowan froze. He slowly turned. Bjorn stood behind him, chewing a large piece of bread. Rowan stared. “Seriously?” Bjorn blinked. “What?” “We’re supposed to be quiet!” Bjorn swallowed. “I am quiet.”